


Being There

by redwoodroots



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Brotherly Support, Sea Grunks, Stangst, some ptsd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-19 04:37:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11890179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redwoodroots/pseuds/redwoodroots
Summary: Stan and Ford stop for a drink while traveling the sea.  Unfortunately, things do not go as planned.





	Being There

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is actually my first fanfiction ever, and of course I had to do it on two of my favorite characters. I hope you enjoy it!

“We're gonna get so drunk!” Stan shouted, fist-pumping the air. 

“At least we won't have to drive home,” Ford said with a smile, stepping out of the boat. They'd been sailing for weeks, and Stan had made him promise they'd stop at the first port they came to – which just so happened to be lined with grungy-looking bars. Ford had never been indulgent of alcohol. The closest he'd come was the (probably spiked) punch at their high school prom. Stan hadn't done much drinking, either, but his whole face had lit up like a menorah as soon as he saw the bars. How could Ford turn him down? 

Stan threw an arm around his shoulders. “This is gonna be great! We're gonna get drunker than a couple of college frat boys!” 

“'Drunker'?” 

“Yo, Ford, you know what happens to people who correct grammar...” 

Ford winced, and Stanley grinned. 

“THEY HAVE TO PAY THE TAB! WOOHOO!” 

Stan led them straight to the first bar. It looked like Stan's kind of place: dark, dirty, with a sign out front that said Fish: $20.00. Beer: Almost free. 

The bar was small. There was barely room for the four tables inside; to make up for it, they had stools instead of chairs. There were a couple of slope-shouldered fishermen in the corner, but otherwise they had the place to themselves. 

Ford wrinkled his nose. The place smelled decidedly rank. 

“Stan, maybe we should patronize a diff-” 

“YO BAR GUY!” Stan yelled. “What's cheap and filled with alcohol?” 

The bartender turned and squinted at Stan with rheumy eyes. “A vodka with extra rocks,” he said. 

“Nope – THIS guy!” Stan laughed, pointing to himself. “Or I will be as soon as I get that vodka!” 

“I'll have the same,” Ford added. “And a plate of fish, please.” He had, after all, done his reading. A full stomach slowed the intake of alcohol. He'd indulge his brother, but it always paid to keep one's wits about. 

They sat at a table by the window. Ford set his hand on it and instantly regretted it; the table was sticky, and he pulled his fingers away with a slight sucking noise. He sincerely hoped his chair wouldn't do the same when he finally stood up. 

“Aw, man, you ever see a place this dirty?” Stan said loudly. 

“Stan!”

“And the lighting! Those bulbs are dimmer than a Mystery Shack tourist! I bet this guy pays squat for maintenance!” 

Somehow while he was talking, the lightbulb in the lamp above their table mysteriously vanished. (Not that it was any dimmer or brighter than before; most of the light came from the sunshine glancing through the window.) Still, he was pretty sure he saw the bartender watching through slitted eyes. 

Ford grinned, leaned over and plucked the bulb from his brother's sleeve. “Let's not steal more than we want to pay for. We still have to buy more supplies and rations tomorrow.” 

“Aw, don't be such a spoilsport, Sixer!” 

The bartender arrived before Ford could answer. He hastily replaced the bulb as the man slammed down their orders and stalked back to the counter, muttering about the quality of his clientele. Not that Ford could blame them – when Ford glanced down at the table, his fork had disappeared. 

“Stan!” 

His brother grinned, making no attempt to pretend innocence, and waved the fork under his brother's nose. “Missing something, Sixer?” 

“Give me that,” Ford laughed, making a grab for it. Stan snatched it back and dangled it again, teasing him. “You're not even drunk yet!” Ford protested, making another grab. Stan kept it just out of reach and Ford leaned over to get it. Stan was laughing so hard he could barely keep a grip on it anymore, and Ford grabbed it and then pulled Stan's beanie and pulled it over his face for good measure. 

“And let that be a lesson to you!” Ford joked. Stan roared with laughter. Ford had seldom seen him look so happy, and he hadn't even gotten drunk yet. He glanced at his cup, wondering what they'd be like when they became...inebriated. Well, he planned to keep from getting too drunk, and with that thought, he cut the fish with his fork and took a bite. 

_Fire!_

Ford had never expected the fish to be spicy but it was instant, the ghost pepper sending pain like hot knives under his tongue, cutting the roof of his mouth, burning his eyes. He gagged and spat the fish into his hand. 

“Whoa, Ford!” Stan started pounding on his back. 

Ford's eyes dripped tears, but the pain wasn't alleviated in the slightest. In desperation, Ford grabbed the vodka and swallowed, holding a block of ice on his tongue. The fiery oil felt like it was searing the very jelly of his eyes. He covered his face with his hands, as if he could rub out the agony. It burned beyond belief, there was a roaring in his ears, his tongue felt swollen and his eye was stinging, it was burning, it was _dripping blood –_

He jerked back from the table and scrambled for the door, half-blind with tears and panic. Stan and the bartender were yelling and then there was a pressure on his arm and the bright light of the sunlight suddenly hit his face. The added pain made his bile rise and he gagged. 

“Ford, Ford, just talk to me,” Stan was saying. 

“My eyes are burning,” Ford gasped. 

“That bad? Hang on, I got this –”

Stan half-dragged him towards a blurry building farther down the street. Ford grabbed his brother's shoulder, gripping it tightly in one hand while he scrubbed brutally at his eyes with the other. He wanted to claw them out, he wanted to end the burning, they're bleeding my eyes are bleeding he caught me again I can't fall asleep get out of my head get it out _get it out_ – 

Stan shoved something into his hands, but they shook too badly to hold it, and Stan guided it to his mouth. Some kind of bottle. Ford chugged whatever was in it until it was empty, and Stan handed him another one. He couldn't even taste it, but it was thicker than water, like a smoothie or a syrup. He drank the next bottle, and the next, and the next.

It wasn't until the sixth one that the agony began to ebb. He noticed they were sitting down, leaning against something hard that poked at his back. He tried to look around, but his eyes were still watering too badly. 

“Tilt your head up a minute,” Stan said, and gently poured water onto his face, soothing his eyes. Ford hoped fleetingly that Stan used bottled water, but it was still so painful he couldn't hold onto the thought. 

“It's okay, Ford...I know it hurts, but you'll be alright,” Stan murmured, his gravelly voice soft. 

Ford realized he was crying, his shoulders were shaking less with pain than with fear. _At least the continued production of tears would help wash out the spice_ , he thought distantly. It was as if his mind had divided into two: one half paralyzed with fear, the other a cold observer. He couldn't seem to stop crying. Stan handed him another drink, and another, and another. He drank them all and still the tears came. He hadn't expected to recall his experiences with Bill quite so strongly. He tried to catch his breath. 

“That bartender can forget a tip,” Stan joked. 

Ford managed a smile, more for Stan than anything else. He tried to talk but his voice cracked with a sob. He sank forward, covering his eyes with one hand. 

“C'mon, Ford. This isn't just about the fish, is it?” Stan asked. Ford shook his head, still hiding his face. 

He'd never gotten around to telling Stanley about the...events that happened before Stanley's arrival in Gravity Falls. It had just never come up. And now that it was finally relevant, Ford couldn't bring himself to find the words. Shock and shame burned in his throat. 

There was a long pause. 

“Alright,” Stan said finally. “Just...just tell me what you need.” 

Ford held up the empty bottle with his free hand. Stan replaced it with a full one and Ford drank it down. When that was gone there was a new one in his hand before he could ask. Stan stayed right next to him, one arm resting on Ford's back, handing him drinks whenever he needed them. 

After a long time, Ford felt the stinging spice begin to ebb. His eyes watered, but no longer dripped tears, and he could almost feel his tongue again. He took several deep breaths, wiped at his eyes, and straightened up. 

It was some kind of convenience store. They were sitting on the floor in front of the soft drink section, over a dozen empty bottles littered in the aisle around them. The wrappers indicated he'd been drinking some kind of fruit smoothie. Looking left, Ford could see a part of the window at the front of the store; it was just down the street from where they'd started. 

“Well,” Ford rasped, “so much for getting drunk.”

Stan laughed, playfully slapping his shoulder. “I dunno, I think one of us sure got a lot to drink!” 

Ford chuckled a little. Based on the vacant spot in the shelf, they'd pretty much cleaned out the smoothies. 

Stan was ready to put the empty bottles back and hide them behind the few remaining ones, but Ford insisted on paying. He didn't want to do anything to cause trouble, especially in a foreign country, or make them wanted men. He'd had enough of that sort of life on the other side of the portal. 

The mood for drinking was thoroughly ruined, so they bought their supplies and headed back for the boat inside an hour. They decided to stay docked until tomorrow, in case they wanted to actually get drunk, but until then Ford had plenty of work to keep him occupied – several samples to check and compare against yesterday's observations, checking Dipper's homework on the spread and extinction of klatoblepones in Europe, assigning him work on the hypothetical introduction of supernatural species via airplanes, responding to the comments left by his scientific colleagues on his most recent essay eliminating narwhal as a relative of the unicorn...

Stan kept him company, playing paddleball, sleeping at the table and doing general puttering things. Ford wasn't really paying attention, but he was deeply grateful for the company. He knew he had to give Stanley attention tomorrow, maybe actually get to the 'drinking' part of the bar experience, but for now he needed the distraction of his work. He really didn't want to think about...

It didn't matter. He had work to do. 

 

It was well past 2 AM when Stan woke up, hunched awkwardly over the kitchen table. He blinked groggily, wiped the drool from his lip and groaned as he sat up straight. Being old was a real pain in the...

“Ford?” Stan said. Last thing Stan remembered, his brother was sitting across from him, clicking away on the computer. The laptop was exactly where he'd left it, but Ford was nowhere in sight. 

Stan got to his feet, gritting his teeth as his joints popped and ached. This far north, the cold was not easy on his arthritis. He made a mental note to get some painkillers at the drugstore before they left. Make that two bottles, since Ford might need them, too. 

He poked his head into the bunk room, but both beds were empty. 

Great. The nerd was probably freezing his butt off on deck. Why didn't he just stay down below? Stan wouldn't care if Ford was still shaken up over what happened earlier. 

Not that Stan really knew what happened in the first place. It obviously wasn't about some bad fish. 

This wasn't the first time something like this happened, either. Once, they'd docked at a little town in Canada to get some supplies, and decided to check out the local tourist trap just for fun. Ford had taken one look at a little glass prism and practically bolted out of the shop. Or the nightmares – last week Stan had woken up to screaming in an alien language. He'd shaken Ford awake, but his brother wouldn't tell him what the dream had been about. It was like some part of him still thought he had to do the “lone wolf hero” thing. 

It was driving Stanley crazy. Didn't his brother know how much Stan loved him by now? He wouldn't care if Ford was all shaken up. Heck, he wouldn't care if Ford cried on his shoulder like Dipper after a fairy bit him. Ford was his brother. They were supposed to stick together, to trust each other. Not that either one of them were good at the whole “sharing feelings” crap, but still...

“Stupid genius,” he muttered. Grabbing a jacket and a blanket from his bed, Stan headed out the hatch and onto the deck. 

Ford was leaning against the rail, staring at the lightening sky. His back was to Stan, but his shoulders looked stiff and hunched. 

“How long you been out here, Sixer?” 

“Not – not long.” 

He came up beside his brother and raised an eyebrow. “Ford, you got frost on your face.” 

Ford scrubbed at his cheeks. 

Stan stood next to him for a while, looking over the ocean. It felt good to be beside his brother, but he hated watching Sixer hurting. Whatever that spicy fish had triggered for him, it wasn't anything good. 

_This is driving me crazy! Why doesn't he ever just tell me what's wrong?_

“Oh yeah – I brought a blanket,” Stan remembered suddenly, holding it up. It was one of Mabel's knitting creations, soft as kitten breath and pink as an embarrassed flamingo. “Let's go siddown and cover up, huh?” 

They settled themselves on the bench nailed to the outside wall of the cabin. Stan spread the blanket over their legs and sat back. He was literally biting his tongue, trying to keep from bugging Ford. _If he's not ready to talk then shut yer yap,_ he thought like a chant. _Shut yer yap, shut yer yap, shut yer yap..._

This was just killing him. 

He thought of a question that felt safe to ask. “Are you...ok now?” 

Ford sighed. “Yes.” 

“Have you even slept? You look like you could really use the rest.” 

Ford leaned back with a sigh. 

Stan made himself let it go. “Hey, remember when we shared a bed at Aunt Sheila's as kids?” he said. “We always thought it was so awkward because she made us sleep in the living room...so we stayed up and built pillow fort mazes for hours.” 

Ford smiled a little. “I do. Complete with booby traps. Remember the nacho chips?” 

“Oh, man!” Stan laughed. “By the time we finally found 'em they'd gone way past green and hit purple mold!” 

“Exactly the same color as her drapes,” Ford said. 

“I guess the one good thing – after Dad chewed us out – was that we never had to go back after that. I hated being away from the Stan O' War.” 

Ford didn't say anything for a moment. Then, to Stan's surprise, Ford leaned against him a little. He was sort of hunching, like he didn't quite know how to do it. 

“Hey, Sixer?” 

“It brought back memories of being possessed by Bill,” Ford said bluntly. “I know you've been trying not to ask. I'd rather...I'd rather not go into detail. But I wanted to tell you...I...appreciate your being there, and not pushing me for information. The smoothies were a great idea.”

The way Ford's head was angled, Stan couldn't see his face. He just stared at his hair for a minute. _Appreciate? Did he really just say that? Was that nerd-talk for 'Thank you'?_

“Well...sure, Sixer,” he said. “Anytime.” 

“And I am sorry I ruined our drinks.” 

“Come on. You see the state of that dump? Guy probably spits in a glass and calls it vodka.” Stan waved a hand. “There's a dozen other bars on the street. If you're up for it later, we can always grab a gin or something somewhere else.” 

He wrapped an arm around his brother. In a few minutes, Ford started to nod, and then his head dropped softly onto Stan's shoulder. Stan leaned into him a little, balancing them. _This could work_ , he thought. Ford liked that Stan had helped him. Ford trusted Stan to help him. Even if Ford wasn't ready to tell him everything, Stan could work with this. Just being there for his brother. It's what he'd wanted to do the whole time, anyway. 

Stan smiled, listening to his brother's light snoring, and watched the sun rise.

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaaand that's the end! It's a one-shot, but I am planning to do a Gravity Falls Reverse Falls series - basically every episode of Gravity Falls, but with Grauntie Mabel chaperoning (or not) the antics of her two grephews, Stan and Ford. 
> 
> Anyway, if anyone has any thoughts on this fanfiction, I hope you'll leave a quick comment below. I appreciate your feedback a lot. Telling me what you enjoyed or would like to have seen will help me improve my future work. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it!


End file.
